


In the Palms of Your Hands

by YakuzaDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV John Watson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YakuzaDog/pseuds/YakuzaDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an exhausting day at work, all John wants is to warm up at home, have a cuppa, and take a nice nap. Although... taking a hot bath with Sherlock doesn't sound like a bad idea, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Palms of Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jakathine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/gifts).



> Happy birthday to [Jakathine](http://jakathine.tumblr.com/)! Thanks for being such a lovely friend to me and I hope you have a wonderful day. <3
> 
> This fic was neither beta'd nor brit-picked. Please excuse any mistakes I may have made.

The moment that the heavy wooden door of 221 Baker Street slams shut against the frigid London air, John releases a weary sigh of relief.

It had been a long day at the surgery—and on the coldest day of the season by far. The queue of sniffling children and influenza scares almost seemed to never end, until finally, John was allowed off his shift, which he was profoundly grateful for, and had practically sprinted out of the building. Although, the nearly glacial conditions outside that welcomed him didn’t exactly give him a reason to celebrate just yet. Now that he’d made it back to Baker Street in one piece, all John wants right now is to warm up, have a hot cuppa, and take a well-deserved nap.

John trudges up the stairs to the flat, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He opens the door to the sitting room only to find the flat in a state of near darkness, the curtains having been shut tight in a futile attempt to keep any remaining warmth inside. Speaking of warmth, there is a surprisingly lack of it in the room; John tugs his jacket closer to him and doesn’t even consider the thought of taking off his gloves or scarf any time just yet.

Sherlock must be home since his heavy Belstaff and blue scarf hang on the back of the door. John walks over to the kitchen; no sign of any experimenting detectives, which John finds a bit unusual. “Sherlock?” John calls out into the flat.

A muffled response comes from the direction of the hallway. “In the bathroom, John.”

John pads his way down the hallway and raps his knuckles on the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

Sherlock gives an affirming grunt and John opens the door. Immediately, a thick cloud of sweltering steam envelops John and he almost whines in pleasure at the sensation. Quickly shutting the door behind him to trap himself within the heat, John enters the little bathroom—now converted into a temporary steam room—fully. Along the opposite wall of the room, Sherlock lounges comfortably in the steaming bathtub, his eyes closed and head resting leisurely against the rim of the tub. “Hello, John,” he greets in a low voice.

“Hey,” John says with a smile. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Sherlock tilts his head to the side and looks at John. He smirks. “Not at all. In fact, I rather welcome the interruption.”

“Mm. Do anything interesting while I was gone?”

Sherlock leans his head back again. “No.”

“No cases? No experiments?”

“No.”

“Ah. Just been lying around the flat, bored, then?”

“Obviously. I’m always bored when you’re not around.”

John’s eyebrows nearly shoot up into his hairline at the slip of sentiment. He smiles. “Oh, I see.” He walks over to the tub.

Despite the ample size of the basin, Sherlock’s sweeping limbs still crowd and nearly overflow from the water inside. He lies with his back plastered against the edge of the tub, his bare torso and waist distorted underneath the rippling water with his legs bent at the knees. Droplets of water cling to the man’s upper chest and little vapors of steam rise off from his shoulders. Sherlock slowly opens his eyes and watches John watch him. He looks absolutely gorgeous.

John places a still-gloved hand on the top of Sherlock head and gently ruffles his dry curls. “Miss me, then?” John whispers.

Sherlock’s eyelids flicker momentarily as leather gloved fingers press against his crown. “A little,” he murmurs.  John chuckles as he cards his fingers deeper into Sherlock’s hair and massages his scalp. Sherlock hums contentedly and greedily nudges his head up into John’s palm.

John slides his hand down from Sherlock’s hair and tenderly cups the side of his face. “I missed you, too.” He leans down and softly presses a kiss to Sherlock’s warm, plush lips. Sherlock makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and tilts his head up to kiss John back.

Pulling back just a bit, John opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock gazing back at him. “Join me,” Sherlock mouths slowly and silently.

John huffs a happy, warm breath of air through his nose. “Really? Is there even room for one more in there?” He says glancing down at the mileage of Sherlock’s body emerged in the tub.

“I can make room,” Sherlock replies cheekily.

Grateful for the offer, John straightens up and takes a few steps back. He unravels his scarf, sheds his gloves, and slips off his shoes. He unzips his coat and slides it off his shoulders, keeping eye contact with Sherlock, who watches him with interest. John contemplates taking off the rest of his clothes with a bit less speed in order to tease, but god, the heat from both the bath and his lover is just too enticing at the moment, so John doesn’t spend any more time than he needs to strip off the rest of his clothing. All in all, Sherlock doesn’t seem disappointed by this turn of events either.

“Budge up,” John commands lightly, stepping over to the bath. Sherlock sits up and scoots forward, shifting and splashing water in the process, until there’s enough room for John to slide in behind him. John steps his foot into the water, groaning at the delicious burn that sheathes his chilled skin. He slowly lowers himself down into the luxuriously warm water, sighing blissfully once he’s fully seated. Sherlock adjusts himself between John’s legs and leans back until his head is rested on John’s shoulder and their bodies are pressed snuggly together.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him close, and burrowing his nose into the other man’s hair. _This is perfect_ , John thinks. _There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here_. John closes his eyes and relaxes against the brilliant body in his arms, fully and utterly content.

“God, to think I almost let myself get talked into taking extra hours at work today,” John mutters against the skin behind Sherlock’s ear.

“Mm. Thankfully you didn’t or otherwise I would have drawn up this bath all for naught,” Sherlock replies lazily.

“Hmm?” John blinks an eye open. “Are you saying you drew up a bath with the sole intention of me joining you in it in mind?”

Sherlock fidgets against John’s chest. “For… efficiency’s sake, yes. It will, er… mutually benefit both of our time schedules and the plumbing bill.”

John chuckles quietly against the damp skin of Sherlock’s neck. “You’re sweet.”

Sherlock shifts and twists his neck to look at John, a scandalized look on his face. “What? I am not.”

“You predicted the exact time that I’d be home from work and planned a bath accordingly, well aware of the fact that I’d be exhausted, freezing my arse off, and absolutely willing to join you in the bath.” John squeezes Sherlock lovingly in his arms. “That’s quite the romantic gesture, love.”

Sherlock purses his lips and casts his eyes away from John. “Well, when you put it like that…” Sherlock mumbles sheepishly. John laughs and hugs Sherlock closer yet to him.

John rubs his palms affectionately up and down Sherlock’s abdomen. He kisses Sherlock behind the ear and whispers, “Sherlock Holmes, you are the sweetest man I know and nobody, including you, could ever convince me otherwise.”

Sherlock inhales sharply and nuzzles the back of his head into the front of John’s neck. John continues to move his hands over Sherlock’s skin, caressing the planes of his chest, brushing along the expanse of his clavicle, and smoothing his palms tenderly down the skin of his arms.

John mouths and kisses the span of Sherlock’s neck. “I love you so much,” he whispers.

“John,” Sherlock gasps, shivering underneath his lover’s touch.

“I know, love. I know,” John murmurs, “Just relax now.” John’s hands resume their journey over Sherlock’s skin, massaging up his biceps, and down the sides of his torso, dipping below the water, all the way to his outer thighs, and back up again. Lingering on his chest, John’s fingers caress around Sherlock’s pectorals, eventually reaching his nipples where he firmly traces the pads of his fingers against the sensitive skin, causing Sherlock to release a breathy moan.

Trailing down underneath the surface of the water again, John inches his hands towards Sherlock’s waist, and rubs along the curves of his hips, dragging his index fingers along the crevices between thigh and pelvis. “Is this all right?” John asks softly.

Sherlock lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding and nods against John’s shoulder. “Yes. _Please_.”

John smiles and presses his lips against the base of Sherlock’s neck. “Okay.” He curls his fingers along the inside of Sherlock’s thighs and stokes the supple flesh. Sherlock widens the space between his legs, giving John more room to maneuver his touches. John moves his fingers inward and thumbs through dark, course hair swaying gently underneath the water. His knuckles brush against Sherlock’s erection, which bobs lightly against his stomach and peeks wetly above the surface of the water.

Sherlock whines and impatiently lifts his hips up into John’s hands. Stifling a chuckle against his shoulder, John obliges the other man and delicately wraps his fingers around the base of Sherlock’s cock. A groan of relief tears itself from Sherlock’s throat and he arches against John’s body and into the grip of his hand. John gives Sherlock a firm stroke. It’s not the easiest to do with the water surrounding them, but he grips and pulls and manages all right, in the end. Judging by the way Sherlock’s breathing heavily against John’s chest, he doesn’t seem to mind either way.

John languidly tugs down Sherlock’s foreskin and teases his thumb along the head, eliciting a rumbling moan from Sherlock. Finding a rhythm, John alternates between slow pulls of Sherlock’s cock and stroking along the slit and squeezing the hard flesh in his palm. Sherlock pants into the crook of John’s neck, keening when he feels John’s other hand slink further between his legs and caress along his perineum. “John,” he moans softly, his eyes clenched shut.

The water quietly ripples around the two as John continues his fondling beneath the water’s surface and Sherlock messily attempts to thrust his hips simultaneously with John’s strokes. Sherlock’s legs begin to quiver as he edges closer to climaxing. John speeds up the movements of his hands and presses wet kisses against Sherlock’s neck and down to his shoulder blades. “Come on, Sherlock. That’s it,” he urges soothingly, “I’ve got you. Come on.”

Sherlock moans and ruts eagerly against John’s hands, his hips jutting forward faster and faster until he suddenly stops mid-thrust, gasping raggedly into the crevice of John’s neck, and comes on John’s hand, his own stomach, and in the water. Out of breath and in a daze, Sherlock settles back heavily against the floor of the tub and John’s chest. Without missing a beat, John’s got his arms comfortingly draped around Sherlock again within seconds.

John smirks. “You still bored, then?”

Sherlock makes an unintelligible sound and does a masterful impersonation of a human mold of gelatin.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” John says proudly. He holds his sated, gelatin-limbed boyfriend comfortably in his arms for several minutes before Sherlock finally gathers his senses again and speaks up.

“Okay,” he mumbles groggily, “now it’s your turn.”

John purses his lips. “Nah. I’m not really in the mood right now.”

Sherlock snorts. “Liar. I can feel your erection pressing against my backside.”

True; he wasn’t lying about that. “Honestly, I’d really just like to finish this bath up, have some tea, and head off to bed. I can worry about getting off later.”

Sherlock hums in a Sherlockian way that means he’s indifferent to the idea.

“But, please do feel free to hold any ideas of yours for later; I will need something to wake me up, after all.”

Sherlock tilts his head, considering. “Hmm… Deal.”

 


End file.
